


Bound

by coveredbyroses



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dirty Talk, Doggy Style, Established Relationship, F/M, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, Rope Bondage, Shameless Smut, Unsafe Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-05
Updated: 2018-04-05
Packaged: 2019-04-18 15:52:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14216568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coveredbyroses/pseuds/coveredbyroses
Summary: You find a box of rope in the bunker's dungeon. You get ideas.





	Bound

It’s kind of funny, you think. When Dean had asked you to move into the bunker with him, you’d nearly swooned - and not just at the idea of finally moving in with the man you loved, but at the thought of _all_ that extra space…a luxury you’d never had.

You quickly came to realize what a delusion _that_ had been. Sure, there was plenty of room for an entire library of books on supernatural lore, weapons of seemingly every kind, a giant freakin’ _telescope_ for Christ’s sake - but when it came to regular-everyday-real-world junk, you found yourself quite limited. Especially when you’d attempted to load the dresser that you were to share with Dean. There was virtually no room for any of your clothes among the piles of denim and flannel stuffed inside the old, wooden drawers. Finding a place for your family heirlooms and keepsakes had been joke. You gave up, frustrated; opting to live out of moving boxes and luggage until you could figure something out.

The two of you eventually compromised, of course, settling for donating the things you could live without. So here you are in Dean’s bedroom, six weeks later, boxing up clothes, books, and other odd and ends. Three more to go and you’ve just used the last strip of boxing tape. Fantastic.

You get the idea to text the boys about the tape, but Sam’s in Oklahoma spending the weekend with a girl he’d hooked up with during their last hunt - April was it? Or maybe it was Amy…

Dean’s down in the garage working on the Impala. Poor Baby’s been struggling to start up lately. ‘Probably just her spark plugs,’ he’d said over breakfast.

So you make your way to the kitchen, checking the junk drawer where you find three packs of gum, a handful of old receipts, two pairs of pliers, three screw-drivers, a couple of old phone chargers, an unopened 20-pack of AA batteries, and a scattering of pens and pencils. But no tape.

You move on to the War Room, rummaging through desk drawers, finding nothing. You sigh, slamming the last drawer shut, turning around to lean against the desk, bracing yourself on your arms as you close your eyes and lean your head back in irritation.

 _How in the blue hell is there no tape in this fortress?_ At this point, you’ll settle for anything - duct tape, scotch tape - whatever. You chew the inside of your cheek, thinking.

_The dungeon?_

The bunker’s dungeon really doesn’t seem like the place to store office supplies, but you despise the thought of driving an hour just for freaking box tape.

*********

You open the door to room 7B, stepping inside to the smell of old books and dust - It always reminds you a little of your grandmother’s house. You find the secret shelf, using your weight to push against it and it groans to life, giving way to invite you inside the secret prison.

You turn to the table at your left. It’s littered with a few papers, file folders, and pens. You squat down, checking underneath - there’s a couple of plain, unlabeled boxes sitting neatly against the wall. Shrugging, you pull the first one out and fold the top flaps back to peer inside: nothing but red spray paint. They’re buying in bulk now. Smart. You shove the box back under the table, pull out the second.

And freeze.

Rope. _Bundles_ of rope.

You’re not exactly proud of the electric current that shoots from your head to straight to your cunt, but you’ve always had a bit of a bondage kink - Not that your sex life with Dean is exactly vanilla; he’s always been a passionate lover - and he can be rough when you’re both up for it - but lately you’ve been wanting more. Like, a lot more. You’ve just been too afraid to ask him.

You bite your lip, an idea formulating in your lust-clouded brain.

“What are you doing?” Your head snaps up, your heart jumping to your throat at the sudden noise. Dean’s leaning, shoulder against the entrance wall, arms and ankles crossed, brows furrowed in confusion. You let your eyes glide over him, starting at his brown work boots, then up his denim-clad legs, hovering a little at his thick thighs. Your gaze continues up and over his waist, stopping at his folded forearms, the sleeves of his blue and black flannel rolled up to his elbows.

_Shit. How long have you been staring?_

You clumsily jump to your feet, suddenly feeling like a little kid busted for snooping around her parents’ stuff.

He dips his head forward, brows lifting in question at your lack of response. You swallow, your mouth suddenly dry. “I…uh,” You clear your throat. “I was just…ah. Just looking for some box tape,” you stammer out a little too quickly.

Dean’s eyes dart around the room, lips parting in puzzled thought. “In…the…dungeon?” he asks slowly.

You huff a chuckle, “Yeah…just desperate I guess.” Your face heats up at the underlying meaning of your words.

He flashes you an amused smile and turns, “Come on, there might be some in-”

“Actually-” you start, the words sticking in your throat. He turns back toward you, waiting.

_Shit. Go big or go home._

You take a breath and try again, “I was wondering if you could ah…” You scratch your head. “I was wondering if you could teach me something.”

_There it’s out, can’t take it back now._

He blinks at you, “Teach you…what?”

 _Here it goes_.

“Well, I was just thinking that it might be…beneficial for me to know how to get out of…these-” You jerk your head toward the box, picking at your fingers. “Ya know. Just in case?”

The corner of his mouth quirks in a smirk. “Kid,” he starts, shaking his head. “The bunker is warded. You’re safe here.”

“Yeah…” you drawl, “It’s safe _here_ , but what about out there? What if I get snatched taking a walk, or out shopping? You can’t protect me all the time, Dean.”

He purses his lips and gives you a knowing nod. And fuck if you don’t feel guilty at the worry that blossoms over his face.

“Hey,” you whisper, taking three short steps until you’re in front of him, sliding a hand up his stubbled cheek and curling your fingers behind his neck.

“You don’t have to - it was just an idea, that’s all.” Dean works his jaw as he searches your face. You give him a soft smile, “Besides, it’d be one hell of a party trick, huh?” He snorts at that, returns the smile, covering your hand with his own before pulling it away, pressing a warm kiss to your knuckles. He glances at the box behind you.

“Okay,” he says then raises a pointed finger, “But you gotta tell me if you get freaked. Deal?”

You roll your eyes, “Dean…I’m not-”

“Deal?” he repeats, sternly. You sigh.

“Deal.”

*********

A few moments later, you’re sitting in the middle of the devil’s trap; your wrists and ankles tightly secured to the arms and legs of the solitary chair. Dean circles you, double-checking his handiwork, before coming to a stop in front of you. He goes through the basics; tense your muscles _while_ you’re being tied up and don’t panic - “It’ll only jack up your heart rate and fog up your brain,” he says.

“Alright kiddo, let’s see whatcha got,” he tilts his head toward you, “See if you can get out of ‘em." You lean forward; tugging, jerking, and wriggling against your restraints. You try to ignore how all your squirming presses the seam of your jeans directly into your clit, try to ignore the slick seeping through your panties.

You try to ignore the gaze of the hunter standing before you - How intimidating he looks; towering over you, crossed arms accentuating his broad shoulders. He’s smirking at you in amusement, but from this angle he looks absolutely _predatory_. And for the first time, you understand why even the deadliest of monsters fear this man.

You quickly tire out after only a few seconds, slumping back into the chair.

“No?” he smirks.

“Nuh-uh,” you smile sheepishly.

You nod courteously as he dives into the mechanics of rope-escape; patience, wriggling your hands and feet, how to cut through the rope if you have a sharp object -

_His voice is so deep. Has it always been this deep?_

“Try again,” he instructs, folding his muscled arms back over this chest.

_Is he doing that on purpose?_

You lick your dry lips. “Kay,” you manage. Your voice is noticeably lower.

He moves behind you while you work and you freeze when warm fingers curl around your left forearm. “Woah, slow down there kiddo. Ya gotta go at it gently, or you’ll wear yourself out.” Another hand circles your right arm, “Like this,” Dean rumbles behind you, beginning to guide your wrists, slow and steady.

You’ve held your composure well until now, but the heat of Dean’s hands on you stokes the raging fire inside and you let out a shaky exhale as your thighs unsuccessfully try to jerk closed on their own, the binds around your ankles keeping them at bay.

His hands abruptly leave you, the ghost of them lingering on your skin as he reaches for you, turning your face towards his.

“Hey, look at me -” He’s kneeling beside you now, smoothing a hand across your cheek, tucking your hair behind your ear as your lust-glazed eyes meet calming pools of green.

You’re not sure what gives it away; your dilated pupils, ragged breathing, or maybe it’s the way words aren’t coming as easily past your lips as they usually do - but something seems to click in Dean’s brain, because a lazy grin is slowly spreading across his face as his eyes sweep over you.

“This turning you on, babe?”

“I…ah…um, what?” you breathe. His smile widens until it reaches his eyes.

“This your plan the whole time?” he asks. You know he sees right through you, but you play dumb anyway.

“What? No, I-” Dean’s lips are at your ear now. “So if I were to touch you right now, how wet would you be?” he whispers. “Scale of one to ten.”

_Shit._

You swallow. “Please…”

“Please what?” he mimics as he slowly rises to his feet, moving back behind you. “Touch you?”

Your head follows the path of his hand as it slides over your shoulder, over the swell of your breast to your belly, watching as it slowly works its way down, stopping when his fingertips reach the waistband of your jeans. You close your eyes and press your lips together, the curt nod the only answer he needs.

Dean swiftly pops the brass button and slides your zipper down before dipping his fingers underneath your panties, delving into your drenched folds.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he groans, hot against your ear. You whimper, the heat of his stationary hand seeming to coax even more slick from your aching cunt. He slips a finger down, a barely-there press against your dripping entrance. You suck your lower lip into your mouth and cant your hips as much as your bonds will allow - trying to fuck yourself down on his finger when he suddenly _shoves_ in knuckle-deep, settling the heel of hand firmly against your clit. You choke out a broken gasp at the exquisite pleasure of Dean’s single finger inside you.

“Feel good?” Dean asks you. You press your lips together, giving him an enthusiastic nod. “How ‘bout another?” And then he’s nudging a second finger against you, slipping inside, sliding up -

“ _Damn_ , baby,” he breathes. “You got a _hungry_ little pussy today, dontcha?”

Your head drops back then, thunking against the leather backrest where you can see Dean, bent down over you, can see his face - dark, hooded eyes, full lower lip caught between smiling, gleaming-white teeth; you clench around his fingers as you drink him in.

You make a strangled sound as his fingers curl deliciously inside you - And then he finally starts to move; leisurely pumping his fingers in and out while keeping the meaty palm of his hand flat against your clit. The sound of him slicking through your wetness sends wave after wave liquid fire hurtling through your veins; your thighs twitching and jerking as they try to close around his wrist - but you’re glad the ropes are there, relishing how they keep you spread and open for him - a kind of satisfying helplessness.

You’re sweating now, the moisture collecting underneath the band of your bra, dampening your shirt as Dean’s pumping fingers increase to a near punishing pace, his palm thumping and slapping against your clit. Your belly tightens with every wet thrust of his fingers - so _close_.

The band is just about to snap when he suddenly stills; you groan, your throbbing cunt constricting in protest.

You whine, actually _whine_ as he takes his hand away - he sniggers.

“Don’t worry, baby, you’re gonna come - but it’s gonna be on my dick.”

_Oh._

Your pussy buzzes with the memory of Dean’s thick fingers inside you as he deftly frees your hands and ankles from their restraints.

He pulls you to your feet and you can only imagine your disheveled appearance; wild eyed and flushed all over - Dean’s eyes rake over you, pink tongue darting out to wet his lips. He takes a step toward you, one hand snaking around your waist while the other frames the back of your neck, pulling you into a searing kiss - soft and warm, your lips eagerly parting so he can lick into you.

After several seconds, you reluctantly break this kiss - you need air. You’re left clinging to him, your hands fisting the collar of his shirt, wobbly and breathless. He turns you, your back to his front, and walks you toward the table by the wall. When your thighs hit the edge, a wide-fingered hand is gently pressing into the middle of your back, prompting you to bend forward at the waist. He bends with you as you go, ridding the surface of papers and folders with the single swipe of a hand.

He smoothes his hand up your back when your chest is flush against the table, sweeps your hair to the side so he can speak into your ear,

“Color?”

“Green,” you gasp, still a bit flustered from your previously denied orgasm.

And then Dean is pulling your hands behind your back, circling both wrists with a massive hand. You feel the rope again, looping and tightening around you.

You can feel him behind you as he works, feel the heat of him. His hands find your hips once your hands are secure, kneading you through the denim. You’re a little uncomfortable; pressed down against the hard tabletop, your back a bit too slanted, ass in the air, arms stretched and pulled behind you - but all of that is forgotten when Dean hooks his fingers into the waistband of your jeans.

You chew at your lip as he works your pants down, twitching a little as cool air washes over your heated skin, hands twisting within the confines of the rope. He settles your jeans just above your knees, you’re expecting him to pull them all the way off so you’re doing that marching thing with your legs - but he stills you with his hands, pressing into your thighs. A tingling thrill prickles through you with the realization that he’s utilizing your pants as further restraints.

You feel his gaze burning into you; tied and bent over a table for him - you’ve never felt so on display.

Your belly clenches at the rasp and jingle of his belt, and then you feel his cock, hot and heavy, bumping against your ass. He leans forward, strokes a hand through your hair and whispers, a little breathless,

“Color?”

 _“Green!”_ you choke, desperate.

And then his hands are on your hips, the blunt head of his dick pressing against you. You hold your breath and grit your teeth at the familiar, yet _phenomenal_ stretch and burn as he sinks into you. Your jeans hold your legs together, making you tighter - and making him feel even _thicker_. Dean lets out something between a gasp and a groan as he slowly slides home, coming to a rest when his hips meet your ass.

He gives you both a moment as you adjust, his hands leaving your skin. There’s a rustling sound and then he’s mindlessly tossing his flannel on the table. Part of you itches to see him, to see the hungry expression on his face, the way the sleeves of his shirt stretch around his big arms - the other part of you is thrilled to be right where you are, bound and at his mercy.

You’re getting restless now, desperate for him to just _move_. You push back against him, groaning as the motion causes him to stir inside you.

_SMACK_

You hear the swat against your ass echo off the walls before you feel the prickling sting.

“What’d I say about patience, huh?” he rasps. The dominance in his voice makes you shudder.

Dean’s hands find your hips again slowly pulling out to the head; and you can feel every ridge, every vein of his cock dragging against you.

You cry out when he suddenly snaps his hips, plunging back inside. He leans against you, braces himself on his hands, framing your shoulders, as he quickly starts a _deep_ , brutal rhythm.

Your cheek slides over the smooth surface of the table with every powerful thrust. Skin slapping against skin fills your ears as you lie underneath him, eyes closed and mouth gaping in piercing rapture, helpless to do anything but simply take what Dean’s giving you.

You can feel the heat of his breath, the brush of his lips at your neck, just below your ear, as he grunts above you, driving you higher and higher as he spears into you - so _deep_ , bumping straight into that pleasure patch _overandoverandoverandover_.

“This what you needed? Huh?” he pants, “To be tied up and fucked stupid?” You can only whine high in your throat at his words, the white-hot pleasure snowballing inside you.

The table is now clattering into the wall with the force of Dean’s thrusts, the noise of it easily drowned out by Dean’s grunts and your lust-crazed moans. You’re close - so fucking _close_ , you just need -

Dean slips a hand between your legs, roughly rubbing and swirling the calloused pads of fingers into your hungry clit - and you _explode_ , keening, as icy heat pulses through your body.

 _“Oh, fuck!”_ he growls as you clamp down on him, triggering his own climax, jerking and spurting deep into your fluttering cunt - prolonging your orgasm as it rolls through you in electric waves.

You pant, slick with sweat, underneath him as you come down, twitching and whimpering through the aftershocks. He doesn’t move for several seconds while he catches his breath, keeping himself braced on one arm while he runs his fingers through your wild hair in soothing strokes.

“Good girl,” he whispers, “Such a good girl.” Your heart flutters and swells at the murmured praises.

You wince as he slips out of you, his spendings trickling down your thighs in warm rivulets.

Dean quickly frees your wrists of the rope, hands you his discarded shirt to clean yourself. Your arms, back, and neck are painfully stiff; you’re literally aching for a hot shower.

When you’ve deemed yourself presentable, you turn to find Dean packing away the evidence of your playtime. You crouch next to him, picking up the heaps of papers and folders strewn across the the floor.

When everything is back in order, the two of you lean against the table, sated and giddy, basking in the afterglow.

“So,” Dean starts, “That was…”

“Fucking. _Awesome_ ,” you finish. Dean laughs, it’s a genuine laugh. Happy. “Yeah. Yeah, it was. We should do that more often.”

You give him a dangerous look from underneath your lashes, catching the corner of your lip between your teeth,

“ _Definitely_.”


End file.
